


Checkout

by Guede



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, M/M, Painplay, Psychological Warfare, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: Robin’s still mad about the World Cup and Ballack’s off for Germany.
Relationships: Michael Ballack/Robin van Persie
Kudos: 2





	Checkout

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LiveJournal in 2010. Set in summer 2010.

A corner of the rag snags on Robin’s tooth on the way out. It holds for a second, then rasps unpleasantly across the top of his mouth. He coughs, then throws back his head and spit. By then the rag is out of his mouth.

Michael leans against the bed and watches, amused, as the gobbet of spit hits the bedspread. The pattern is a generic hotel one, a dark print that barely shows anything after the moisture sinks into its threads. Then Michael shrugs and flicks the sodden rag onto the floor. He crosses his arms. “Done?”

Robin looks at him, casual stance, little tilt of the head, sleek black clothes that cut out his silhouette against the bland room decor. Then he looks away. He flexes his arms; the rope around his wrists holds but he gets an elbow into the mattress and pushes himself up. He rolls onto his side, hikes himself further up on his arm and darts his head over the edge of the bed.

By the time his spit hits the floor, Michael’s feet have already left the frame. He hears the other man’s chuckle behind him and twists onto his back, but only glimpses black moving the other way. Robin curses and whips his head around to follow it. Something grabs him under the arms mid-turn and his head goes sharply back as Michael hauls him up. He kicks out, trying to dig his heels into the bed, but just as he gets one foot set, Michael wrenches him sideways. Then Michael steps back and Robin’s body is hanging off the bed, only his unbalanced feet and Michael bracing his back keeping him off the floor.

“Get off me,” Robin snaps. He stomps his feet into the bed and pushes himself up, and the pain in his arms eases a little. He gets his head off Michael’s chest.

Then the comforter starts to slide and Robin falls back. His head knocks into Michael’s shoulder on the way down so his jaw drops open in a sharp puff of air. Michael laughs again, and something warm touches Robin’s temple, and as Robin jerks away from it, Michael wrenches up on Robin’s arms. Michael pulls Robin’s elbows off of himself, then apart so Robin’s wrists slam into his own back. High up, the pain ringing Robin’s shoulders and elbows making him see spots, so blind he’s clawing at himself before he realizes. He gasps against it and kicks at the bed again, needing the leverage to keep his joints from dislocating.

But the higher he pushes himself, the more Michael pulls his arms back so he can’t straighten them. His legs are nearly straight but that doesn’t help him; he can feel the edge of the bed under his feet. The arches, then the balls, and then his toes are just sliding off and in his shoulders the ligaments are starting to give. He knows that feeling so well he has to bite down the sour taste in his mouth. And then his feet are off and he’s going to have his arms ripped off by his own body weight. 

For a moment Robin is weightless. Then he’s back on the bed, arms from shoulders to wrists molten with pain, biting the comforter. His feet are hanging off the bed but Michael grabs his ankles and folds his legs up against his chest. Robin tries to kick out when Michael lets go but the hurt swimming through his head makes doubles of everything and he just kicks the space between Michael’s legs.

Michael gets on the bed. He pushes himself up against the headboard and stretches out his legs, then looks at Robin. “Done?”

Robin closes his eyes and runs through every insult he knew, till he feels Michael’s fingers closing like a vise around his ankles again. He stops and lifts his head, and Michael lets him stare for a moment before Michael flips him over.

Pressure off one arm and onto the other, and the both wrenched limp and useless. Robin’s whole side flares and flashes white-hot while he tries to breathe through it. When his vision clears again, his face is lying against Michael’s thigh. Michael is wearing dress trousers and if Robin sticks out his tongue, he could touch the perfect razor crease running down the trouser-leg. He shifts his head around and finds Michael gazing expressionlessly down at him. “No,” he says. “You can go fuck yourself first.”

“Well, have it your way,” Michael says. He speaks mildly but his eyes don’t give anything away. He keeps looking at Robin, lying easy against the headboard. Once he shifts his shoulders and in his black dress clothes he looks like a beast hunching over prey. But he just settles back and watches Robin slacken out of his flinch.

Robin pulls at his wrists again. His arms ache like he’s been using them to run all summer and the rope holding them behind his back doesn’t give. He wants to get his head off Michael’s leg, at least, but he can’t lift his head, he’s so tired.

A light touch on his brow makes him realize he’s nearly closed his eyes. He opens them wide but Michael’s finger traces back out of view, looping around his temple and then running down the curve of his ear. He moves his head, trying to make the man stop, and Michael grabs his earlobe. The pinch is unexpectedly painful. Robin gasps and yanks his head away, and ends up pushing over the trouser crease and in between Michael’s legs. He hisses and tries to pull back but Michael’s palm comes down like an iron bar across the back of his head, holding him there.

There isn’t a lot of air, and what is there quickly turns hot and sticky and stale with Robin’s breath. He pushes his head from side to side, hoping to catch a gap and slide free, but Michael just shoves him down farther. His mouth kisses the bedspread.

“You know, it’s not very nice to talk about people’s pasts like that,” Michael says conversationally. “Not very sporting.”

Robin tells the bed what Michael can do with his sporting.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Michael replies. He sounds closer, as if he’s leaning down over Robin. His hand moves to the back of Robin’s neck, letting Robin lift his head a little. “You’d like if I just flipped you over and took off your jeans and fucked you up against the window. The balcony, where everybody on the street would see. Your jeans down, your mouth saying my name, and me behind you.”

“No, no way,” Robin wants to say. Instead he says: “ _God_.”

“And I’d fuck you against the glass and someone would take a picture, and tomorrow it’ll be all over the Internet. Your friends would send you copies, your wife would hold up a copy when you came home. And they’d all ask if it was true, if it was true, and you’d have to say yes because what choice do you have?” Michael continues. His voice drops. He must be bending lower and lower, because how else can his voice stroke up and down Robin’s back like that, like a snake curling around before it strikes? “You wouldn’t have one, would be your choice.”

“ _No_ ,” Robin moans. He twists his neck under Michael’s hand and Michael digs his finger and thumb into the soft flesh under Robin’s jaw. “ _Please_.”

Michael laughs a third time. He abruptly lets go of Robin’s head and when Robin looks up he’s slouching back against the pillows. “No.” He smiles at Robin. “I’m not going to. Because it isn’t like that, you Oranje shit, when you lose. It’s your choice and you’re the one who has to take it, not me.”

“You—” Robin doesn’t have the words “—you—you—”

He shoves his head down before Michael can even raise a hand. Michael jerks back and Robin drags his torso onto Michael’s legs to keep him still. He presses his open mouth over the hump of Michael’s erection and his bottom teeth push back the fold that hides the zipper. He hears the metal click under his teeth, underscoring a long, low breath from Michael. The man’s hand is resting on Robin’s back, between the shoulderblades, where the ache pulls tightest. If he tries to pet—

\--he does, and Robin bites down through heavy cloth. Michael twists but not away, not trying to pull Robin off him. Even now he’s too amused, laughter rumbling under his pained gasp as he leans his weight on his hand. Robin’s spine bends and Robin has to slip a shoulder between Michael’s legs to bear it. He spits back, throwing his head up to clear his mouth, and then jams his shoulder into Michael’s inside thigh. He uses it to lever himself up and get the button at the top of Michael’s fly between his teeth. The button clicks free and rattles around Robin’s mouth before he flicks it with his tongue off the bed.

Michael shifts and Robin’s knee slides down between Michael’s legs to the bed. He pivots awkwardly on it, trying to get the zipper tab in his mouth. It keeps slipping away from him, or cutting his lip or chin, and once it flips free to leave him pushing his tongue into the biting vee of the metal tracks. 

“Because you’re a bad loser, because you would’ve been an even worse winner,” Michael tells him, heel of hand grinding back and forth over Robin’s back. His other hand tries to slide under Robin’s jaw, then slaps Robin when he snaps at it. He cradles Robin’s head in his hands instead as Robin noses into past the zipper, licks at the black silk behind it. Michael sucks in a breath as Robin outlines his whole cock with one lick.

Then he yanks up Robin by the head. Robin’s teeth clack together on thin air. Then they come apart in a gasp as Michael’s fingers squeeze his throat. He scrabbles to get his knees under him, and can breathe again just as Michael forces his head down again.

The silk is gone and Robin gets only a flash of pale skin before he has Michael’s cock crammed into his mouth. He swallows, drops suddenly when Michael moves his leg out from under Robin’s shoulder, and chokes. Michael clamps down on his shoulder so he can’t move and he tries to breathe but Michael pulls him forward and it turns into a swallow. His nose brushes damp crinkly hair and he thinks he’s going to sneeze. He thinks he’ll bite.

Michael still has a hand around Robin’s throat. It isn’t squeezing now, just holding him in place and Robin swallows again. He jerks his head around so the head of Michael’s cock shifts against the back of his throat and Robin could gag again but he doesn’t. He tightens his lips and pulls back his head slowly. Michael lets him. He’s watching, when Robin gets back forward enough to see. Robin has enough room in his mouth to rub his tongue along the underside of Michael’s cock and Michael hisses. His shirt is sticking to him in places.

He hisses again when Robin pushes his head forward, and kneads his hand on Robin’s shoulder. Robin takes half the cock in his mouth, sucks it, and then spits it out and dives under it. He has half Michael’s balls in his mouth before Michael realizes and then Michael isn’t about to stop him, not when he’s laving them so generously. Michael strokes his thumb down the side of Robin’s throat.

Robin shakes that off and sucks his way back up Michael’s cock. He lets his teeth slide over the head before he swallows it down again, and keeps swallowing. Michael isn’t helping to hold him up now and he has to balance on his knee and one elbow on Michael’s leg. He’s shaking barely seconds in and he isn’t going to last long, but then, neither is Michael.

When Michael comes, he hitches up in place. Then he drags Robin away by the elbow and half-rolls the other way, his hand going down between his legs as he hisses. His shoulders rise and fall, and then he drops on his side against the headboard.

“I’m not going to be like you,” Robin says after a moment. He twists over onto his back. It makes his arms hurt but he just runs his tongue over his lips. They’re swelling and there’s a split at the left corner. He tastes blood in it. “I’m not just chasing the trophies. I’m there because I want to play the way I think’s right, and then what comes from that is what I’ll ge—be happy with.”

“What makes you think I didn’t say that, when I was your age?” Michael exhales long and slow, and then turns around and climbs onto the bed. He wipes his hand off on the sheets before putting it on Robin’s knee. He stretches out his other arm and runs the back of his finger across Robin’s waist, over the skin between Robin’s waistband and where Robin’s shirt has rucked up. Then he turns his finger over and drags it down the length of Robin’s erection. “Anyway, you can say that. And it can even be true. But losing’s still losing.”

Robin closes his eyes. Then he opens them and forces himself up on his arms. “I hate—”

Michael has Robin’s jeans open and down, and is cradling Robin’s balls with his tongue just like he’d cradled Robin’s head. He pushes his head in, snuffs a breath between balls and cock that tickles and teases, and then lets Robin’s cock slide down the bridge of his nose as Robin drops back onto the bed. Then he gets up and puts the head of Robin’s cock in his mouth, and sucks till Robin is calling him God again. Robin can’t push the man away because his hands are tied behind his back, and Michael keeps Robin’s cock between his lips till Robin’s limp against the bed.

A mouth presses against the crease where Robin’s leg joins his torso. It’s not affectionate. Then Michael grunts and sits up beside Robin. He glances over once, through narrowed eyes. Then he looks away as his hand snakes underneath Robin and frees Robin’s hands.

Robin rolls over as Michael, sleek black just showing a few wrinkles, heads for the door. “So why are you here?” he asks. “Aren’t you leaving?”

Michael fingers the knob, considering the question, and Robin feels the absent touch dancing up his arms in between the pins and needles of returning sensation. Then Michael cocks his head. “I just wanted something to remember England by,” he says.

“You’ve got a cabinetful, don’t you?” Robin closes his eyes at the sound of the jealousy in his voice. “Just all in England, is all.”

The door shuts. It’s not a slam but it’s loud enough. Robin snorts, but when he goes to smile, his torn lip hurts too much. He touches his fingers to it, then puts his hand back and gets up without looking at it.

**Author's Note:**

>   1. Despite a generally successful career, Michael Ballack is known for [having incredibly bad luck](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2008/jul/23/michaelballackloser) when it comes to international competitions. He [twice](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2008/feb/23/newsstory.chelsea) [played](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2008/may/22/championsleague.chelsea) for the Champions League runner-up, [missed the final between Germany and Brazil at the 2002 World Cup](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2008/feb/23/newsstory.chelsea) through suspension, was the runner-up for Euro 2008 and missed what was probably his last chance at the World Cup trophy in 2010 through an [injury sustained on the last match](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/may/19/michael-ballack-chelsea-germany-captain) of the English league season. His contract with Chelsea ran out after the 2009-2010 season and he moved back to [Bayer Leverkusen](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/jun/25/michael-ballack-bayer-leverkusen), which was the club at which he first burst into prominence. 
>   2. Robin van Persie is widely considered one of the most talented Dutch players of his generation, but has not seen that success translate into many trophies, either with Holland or with his current club Arsenal, due in part to [frequent injuries](http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2010/apr/15/arsenal-spurs-robin-van-persie). He nevertheless has [said](http://www.goal.com/en-us/news/85/england/2010/06/06/1962210/arsenal-striker-robin-van-persie-i-want-to-be-among-the-best) that he values playing football in the style he considers the best over winning trophies by any way possible.
> 



End file.
